


A Soul is Both the Mask and the Eyes

by TK_Hoshikuzu



Category: Original Work
Genre: Depression, Drinking to Cope, Dysfunctional Family, Ensemble Cast, Everyone Has Issues, Everyone Is Gay, Everyone Needs A Hug, Feelings Realization, It's Hard and Nobody Understands, Light Angst, M/M, Modern Era, Original Character(s), Original Slash, Roommates, Sex Work, Slice of Life, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Smoking, Surprisingly pure??, You would think a story with a porn actor would be filthy but actually it's not really
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-23
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-03 20:29:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,670
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24871567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TK_Hoshikuzu/pseuds/TK_Hoshikuzu
Summary: While juggling his part-time jobs, his nosy bitch of a cousin, and a terrible/nonexistent love life, Dean now has to put up with his new roommate, Connor, a depressed, reclusive chain smoker. Though he's trying to keep a cool exterior, Dean doesn't know how much longer he can keep his hectic life together.A love story about how appearances can both deceive and reveal, creating a maze where lost souls can find each other.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Kudos: 3





	1. In Want of Roommate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's roommate is moving out and Dean's cousin, Jamie, takes the chance to push his own recommendation.

Misfortune comes in threes, but Dean wasn’t familiar with that saying. All he knew was that his long-time roommate was moving out.

“Shit,” Dean said after thumbing through his phone and throwing it on the couch. His cousin Jamie watched as it bounced off and fell on the floor with a clatter. “My roommate wants to move out.” It was so difficult for him to find a decent roommate.

He glanced at Jamie and for a second considered asking him if he knew anyone, but Jamie was unlikely to know anyone reliable, though the same could be said for himself. Fetching his phone from the hardwood floors of the apartment he had grown to love, Dean thought through his social circles for any leads. Maybe he could put flyers up around the local college, but he was looking for a long term commitment. 

“Why’s she moving out?” Jamie asked, legs crossed neatly underneath him as he returned to browsing his phone. 

“She decided to move in with her girlfriend,” Dean replied. He figured it was inevitable, since she didn’t seem to enjoy living here, and often gave Dean a wide berth. He would miss that. 

“Just let me set you up with someone,” Jamie said with a half-shrug. When Dean wrinkled his nose at him, he continued, “You can trust _me_ , cousin.”

“I _can_ , but will I?” Dean asked, squinting his eyes at him. He laughed when Jamie threw a pillow at his face. 

“You ass,” Jamie said. “Don’t be dramatic. Talking doesn’t hurt anyone.”

“Talking is what I don’t want roommates doing,” Dean said. “The reason my old roommate was so great was ‘cause she minded her business.” 

“Well, your business is everywhere, so don’t expect too much,” Jamie sniped back. 

Dean stopped himself from replying. Experience told him that arguing with his cousin was pointless and exhausting. Instead, he answered with silence, choosing neither to accept or refuse his help. He was fond of his cousin, and in fact, trusted him the most, but was often reminded that he had had no choice in family members.

\--------------------

His roommate’s exodus was short and clean. As she carried a final box downstairs, Dean’s polite farewell was met with a stilted grunt. He wasn’t sure if it was meant for him, or if she was just struggling with what looked like a heavy box. It didn’t occur to him to help her until she was well out of sight, but it wasn’t as though they had a relationship.

Dean crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe, briefly weighing the pros and cons of having a friendly roommate, before taking out his phone to see if anyone had responded to his ads, scattered all through the internet.

One read, _can i share the room with my bf????_ Oh God no, Dean thought, unable to handle more than one stranger in his space, much less navigate the particular rules of living with a couple.

Another, _i know you said long term, but is 6 mo okay??? when can i see the place?_ Dean grimaced on the inside. He hated when people tried to negotiate what was a firm requirement. 

Then a message pinged in from Jamie, who wrote, _hey you in? I see ur roommate moving out already._

 _yeah_ , Dean replied out of habit, but he was feeling a bit lonely anyway. He went back into the apartment to fix himself an orange, banana, and kale smoothie with a generous dollop of peanut butter for comfort. He was pouring himself a glass when he heard Jamie at the door, and smoothie in hand, he opened it. 

Jamie hadn’t mentioned that he was bringing someone, so when Dean opened the door, he immediately passed over Jamie’s face to look at the man standing behind him at his shoulder. The meek, thin-shouldered man seemed surprised that Dean focused on him as if he assumed he would be ignored. 

“I found you a roommate,” Jamie piped up, leaning over to intercept Dean’s gaze. 

“Just someone off the street?” he asked, moving aside to let them in. 

“Nooo,” Jamie replied with a playful but impatient tone. “He’s a friend. You wanna show him around?“

Unwilling to let Jamie control the pace of this meeting, Dean introduced himself with a warm smile. “So yeah, I’m looking for a roommate. You’re looking for a place…?” He stopped on a lilt, giving the stranger the opportunity to speak.

The man shrugged, giving Jamie a look as if waiting for a cue. “Yes, he is,” Jamie said, hooking an arm through the crook of the other man’s elbow. “He’s Connor by the way.”

“Okay, well, _Connor_ , sorry about the mess. My roommate just moved out,” Dean said, ignoring Jamie. He then pointed out the lay of his land, describing the kitchen as ‘modern and sparkling,’ the living room as ‘cozy and warm,’ and his room as ‘his glorified closet.’

Last they walked into the master bedroom, which was spacious despite the leftover clutter. Seeing Connor eyeing the sliding glass door, which led to the balcony outside, Dean spent a minute trying to dislodge it open. Previously, his old roommate had placed a cabinet or some other heavy furniture in front of it. It seemed to bother her that the balcony was accessible from the living room.

“You don’t,” he began before grunting, “have to use this, but it’s an option.” He wrenched the door open and let Connor and Jamie out. 

“Can I smoke here?” Connor asked, surveying the view and speaking freely for once.

Dean was disappointed, tallying the harmful side effects of second-hand smoke in his head, but when Connor’s eyes met his, he noticed that they were a dark, jade-green. “Yeah,” he reluctantly replied, convincing himself that Connor would be a nice, quiet roommate. “As long as you keep it outside.”

Connor fidgeted before asking, “Can I smoke now?”

“Sure,” Dean said, snatching the moment to yank Jamie back into the house, shutting the glass door behind them. 

“What do you think?” Jamie asked as Dean gave him a dirty look. 

“Thanks for the heads up,” Dean hissed, crossing his arms. “You can’t bring whoever you want, whenever you want. Can I at least get a heads up?”

“No,” Jamie said, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You _want_ him. He’s fucking loaded.”

Dean raised his eyebrows at the unexpected intel. “What?” 

Pulling at Dean’s shirt and relishing that he had his attention, Jamie continued, “Yeah, he’s been living in a hotel _just because_. A whole suite to himself and everything.”

Dean had no idea that people could do that or even imagine hotel rooms so nice that you’d want to live in them. When he traveled for work, he was usually put up at cheap motels or he had to couch surf. “Then why is he here?”

“‘Cause I asked him to be your roommate,” Jamie said with a triumphant flair and Dean was impressed that there was something he didn’t know about his cousin. Usually, his social circle consisted of exotic dancers and hardcore clubbers, not a rich trust fund baby. Not that they were mutually exclusive, but Connor seemed to be withdrawn - not all Jamie’s type.

Still, it clinched his interest and he took Jamie’s proposal more seriously. After Connor let himself back into the house, they gathered in the kitchen around the granite island. 

“So, how do you like the place?” Dean asked in a pleasant tone, to hide his newfound curiosity. Connor shrugged, glancing at Jamie as if for approval. 

“Didn’t you want a roommate?” Jamie replied, directing his question to Dean. “I got you a roommate.” His smug smile annoyed him, but Connor looked more promising. Wealth aside, he certainly seemed like someone who kept to himself.

“Ideally I’d want you on the lease,” Dean said, ignoring his cousin, “but I’m okay with subletting for a few months, just to see how you like it.” He smiled, trying to hearten Connor, who focused on the grain of the stone counter. As a sign of acknowledgment, he shrugged again. Dean gave Jamie a sideways look, skeptical that Connor would follow through, but Jamie looked awfully confident that Dean would accept him and that Connor would move in.

Dean crossed his arms on top of the counter and stared at Jamie, trying to figure out his motives, but spoke to Connor, “So, you wanna try it out?”

Their eyes met briefly, then Connor glanced at the big, bright tattoos emblazoned on Dean’s arms, and sank his gaze right back down to the counter. “Okay,” he said with another thin shrug, his chin almost touching his chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This my first WIP! There's a definite ending, but I don't know how long it will be. Plan is to finish but I won't deny that encouragement would motivate me. ;P Summary and chapter titles likely to change as I go...hope you enjoy and thanks so much for reading!


	2. No Surprise Without Routine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After resolving his roommate problem, Dean thinks he'll be able to return to his regular life, but his longtime coworker seems troubled.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little smut ahead.

Dean could hardly tell that he had a roommate, much less a new roommate, though Connor was well-settled in. It was quieter than living with his old roommate, who had a job with regular hours and could be heard at predictable intervals. With Connor’s door always shut, Dean wasn’t sure that Connor ate or drank much, but he certainly smoked. When Dean sat in the living room, he could smell the cigarettes (to his displeasure) before he could see movement on the balcony.

Still, it was a relief to resolve one problem in his hectic life, which required constant attention and hustle. Any longer out of the spotlight and demand would plummet, but he didn’t mind the chase. Nowadays one’s image could be built and curated to one’s liking as long as you were diligent.

Sitting in the front seat of his coworker’s car, he took a selfie with a resigned, but confident smile.  _ Getting ready for a long day at work  _ was the caption.

“Dude, don’t tag me in that,” Ray said, glancing at him before staring straight ahead at the road.

“You’re right. Can’t have it without your face,” Dean said, twisting to hold his phone in front of both of them. He laughed when Ray swatted him away. 

“I’m driving, you dick,” Ray grumbled.

Dean knew full well that Ray preferred to keep zero social media presence, but it was fun to tease him. “I’ll get you someday,” he said, but he only faked taking a picture when Ray was paying attention. The opportunity to get a reaction was too tempting.

“How’s the new roommate?” Ray asked to change the subject.

Dean let Ray get away with it, giving him a sideways look. Slouching backward into the seat, he replied, “He’s quiet and keeps to himself, exactly what I was looking for. Lucky I found him so fast.” He didn’t need to give his cousin credit for what was his decision.

They rolled to a red light, so Ray faced him and asked, “Does he know what you do?”

Dean liked the knowing way Ray smirked at him. He liked that they shared a secret. “I don’t know,” Dean said with a sly smile of his own. “I won’t tell if you won’t.”

Ray barked a laugh because there was zero chance he would do that. Dean echoed with a chuckle and gazed out of the window, his smile fading. Moments like these reinforced the strict boundaries of their relationship. 

They met when the studio had paired Dean with Ray as a last ditch effort to improve Ray’s performance, so to speak. Despite being and looking uncomfortable on film -- making him unsellable -- Ray was desperate to keep his job. Well-liked and easy-going, Dean helped him relax in front of the camera. Between shots and Ray’s thighs, Dean often reminded him that a blowjob was a blowjob, no matter whose mouth was on his dick.

Eventually Ray overcame his anxiety enough to film with others, but was most comfortable with Dean, to the point where staff would pass messages for Ray to Dean or vice versa. At first Dean was amused by the steadfast companionship of a self-proclaimed straight man, but over time found his presence endearing. Nothing like his relationship with Jamie, it felt like they were genuine bros.

They enjoyed each other's company enough, but outside of work they might as well be strangers. Dean never thought too hard about this, focusing only on the times where Ray needed Dean. Then there were moments like this, where Dean remembered that he was part of Ray's secret and what Ray needed was for him to toe the line. 

Pushing down a sense of strange resentment, Dean turned back to Ray and changed the subject, making charming, but vapid comments about the weather, the traffic, anything else. They drove into the set and their chatter disappeared as they checked in, filled out their forms, and provided their last test results -- all manner of mundane paperwork. Dean glanced over at Ray, who looked calm, and noted the marked improvement. He wondered how Ray reconciled being gay-for-pay or if Ray was much better at hiding his uneasiness.

A lighthearted approach to work was more fun, but Ray had such a serious look when he prepared himself. In his make-up chair, Dean tried to ignore the throaty, feminine moans from the straight porn that Ray was watching on his phone. He’d never admit it, but when it was time for work to begin, when Ray was on his back and Dean was straddling his hips, Dean loved making eye contact as he sank his ass down on Ray’s nervous cock, bit by bit. Arousal was plain on Ray’s face, though he was with a man. 

The initial thrill died down quickly. As much as Dean liked sex, work was work was work. The director was the one to decide the speed, the positions, the money shots. They paused whenever Ray needed to be fluffed up again. It never mattered if Dean was, though he was always erect with Ray. Maybe it was the thrill of fucking someone with inner turmoil, but lately filming with anyone else wasn’t as fun as it used to be. Dean didn’t care to think about what would happen if nothing excited him anymore.

Fortunately, that day wasn’t today. Finishing hours of work in a dozen positions that looked better than they felt, they pulled their clothes back on. Ray drove Dean home in complete silence but this was normal. No doubt it was overwhelming for him, his brain twisting and flipping all sorts of mental gymnastics to cope. 

It came as a surprise though, when Ray spoke up as they pulled up to Dean’s apartment building. 

“Hey,” he began. “Does it feel that good? To be on the receiving end?”

Dean froze just as his hand clenched over the door handle. Ray didn't say much about work, much less his feelings towards it. Ray knew his question was unusual for him and didn't meet Dean's eyes as he hastily added, “You make it look like it does.”

“Yeah, I think so,” he replied, while trying to glean Ray’s motives from every muscle movement, every rise and fall of his chest. The trouble in his eyes was faint and on instinct Dean rushed to save his feelings. Taking a guess, he said, “But you know, just because ass play feels good doesn’t make you gay. Tons of women do it for guys.”

That made Ray smile, which in turn made Dean do the same. “That’s true. You’re the only person I can talk to about this and not make me feel like a freak.”

“Oh sure, if you have any questions, you can ask me,” Dean said with a shrug, trying to play it cool.

“I just might,” Ray replied, uneasiness creeping into his smile. Dean watched him struggle with his thoughts and he was dying to know what they were, but Dean knew the chance for a smooth exit when he saw one. He opened the door to break the silence.

“Hey, take it easy,” he said, laying a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “I’ll see you later, okay?” 

He waved as Ray pulled out of the parking lot, then took out his phone as he walked upstairs. It was a miracle he didn’t fall flat on his face, since he wasn’t paying attention to the phone nor the stairs. After all, neither gave him a clue about what Ray was thinking.

What did make him lose his train of thought was the subtle smell of cigarette smoke greeting him at the door. Dean worried about the furniture absorbing the odor and decided that he’d try to seal the sliding doors tomorrow. He couldn’t do anything about discerning Ray’s inner thoughts, but he could certainly do something about that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not been three weeks but I promised myself I'd get two chapters out before the month is over. Maybe a biweekly update instead...
> 
> [edited 1/19/2021]


	3. Money Solves Some Things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean finds out a little more about the relationship between his cousin and his new roommate.

Dean’s unpredictable schedule meant that it was weeks before he found out the true nature of Jamie’s and Connor’s relationship. On that day Jamie made it clear he was visiting for Connor and not his cousin. Dean wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Annoyed by the pinprick of rejection, he reminded himself that it was no harm done, just a new normal. Of course Jamie had a life that didn’t revolve around Dean. Still, Dean was taken aback to see such a shameless side to his cousin.

That day, or rather the night, began with the obnoxious ringing of the apartment buzzer. Guessing that it was his cousin, Dean pressed the button to let the impatient guest in. From the front door, he could hear the sound of steps clacking up the stairs. He confirmed his suspicion when Jamie appeared, looking pleased with himself. 

Sighing at the minor inconvenience that was Dean, Jamie pushed past him without greeting and barged into Connor’s room without knocking. Unsurprised that he could be so brazen, Dean followed him to see what commotion his dear cousin had come to cause.

He was also dying to know what Connor’s room looked like. Connor bought all of his furniture new, but Dean didn’t get a chance to see how the rich boy organized his room. Poking his head in, he was disappointed by the simple, sparse room. Connor had a big bed and a big TV, but anyone could buy those if they really wanted to. Then again, he had no reference. He had no idea what a wealthy person’s room was supposed to look like, but surely there should be more stuff, more glitz.

Hearing Jamie ask in a jarringly perky tone, “Hey, _you_! How about we go out?”, Dean directed his attention back to the situation. Hands on hips jutted sideways, Jamie hovered over Connor, who was at his computer with a three monitor set-up. His computer did look nice, Dean admitted, but he knew nothing about technology beyond the latest brand name phone.

Connor’s lifted eyebrows, but otherwise muted reaction, meant that this wasn’t unusual, and Dean was willing to bet that Connor didn’t refuse Jamie. “Um, sure, let me change,” Connor said, as predicted.

Lately Dean found Jamie to be more irritating than usual, so before he could stop his mean streak, he chimed in, “Actually we had roomie plans.” That took Connor by surprise, making his eyes widen like a deer in headlights.

Jamie turned toward Dean and rolled his eyes at him. “You liar,” he said, then reverted back to his sugary tone as he spoke to Connor. “It’s been a while since we’ve been back to Pantheon. Remember how much fun we had?”

Dean’s eyes narrowed. Lines were always long to the exclusive Pantheon, despite the steep cover charge, and only those who ordered VIP bottle service could breeze in. He couldn’t imagine Jamie suffering the wait, so the natural conclusion was that Connor was his personal wallet. He wondered how often Jamie took advantage of him.

Jamie, who was wearing an outfit so tight he had to have been poured into it, was already rifling through Connor’s closet. “Here, wear these,” he ordered, throwing a pair of black pants and something mesh onto the bed. Tossing a pair of boots behind him, Jamie turned and frowned. “What are you waiting for?”

Connor shot a nervous glance at Dean, then at the floor. Jumping to his feet, Jamie yanked off Connor’s shirt in one fluid motion. “Oh my God, we’re all guys here,” he snapped. “Plus, there’s nothing he hasn’t seen before.”

“Hey, take it easy,” Dean spoke up. “He’s clearly uncomfortable.” Connor’s hair was ruffled up, his face was growing pink, and he looked appalled. Maybe he was embarrassed that Dean could see how scrawny he was, bordering malnourished, but it wasn’t Dean’s business.

“Mind your business,” Jamie echoed aloud. “You overthink everything,” he said to Connor, tugging and adjusting the tight mesh top over and around his torso. “Like, he’s the last guy you should be shy around. Right, Dean?”

Jamie sneered at him as he was straddling a defeated Connor, flattened to the bed. Though he felt sorry for the shy man, Dean couldn’t hold back a smile. “Jamie, you’re such a bitch,” he said, his meager resistance to his cousin’s gravitational pull. He couldn’t think of a time when Jamie didn’t get what he wanted.

“Better a bitch than a slut,” Jamie shot back. He held the pair of pants over Connor and leered at him.

“At least I can have fun when something’s up my ass,” Dean said, arms crossed. Sympathizing with Connor -- another victim of Jamie’s steamrolling personality -- he hooked his arms under Jamie’s armpits and flung the both of them onto the bed, whose feathery softness made Dean pause. So it was quality over quantity, Dean thought before Jamie elbowed him in the gut. The ensuing scuffle let Connor grab the pants and scurry to the bathroom.

“Your breath is fucking nasty,” Jamie spat as Dean laughed in his face.

Pinning his younger cousin down, Dean ignored him and said, “Since you’re cutting into my roommate bonding time, can I tag along? I’ve got no plans tonight.”

Jamie made a face, both at his breath and the proposal. “It’s an invitation-only party. Also, I don’t need people recognizing your ass on the street.”

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Please, like that bothers you now. Also, how many exclusive events have I snuck you in?“ Hearing the bathroom door opening, he added with a wink, “Plus, I’ll behave.” Speaking louder, he asked, “I can come, right, Jamie?”

When Connor looked toward him for direction, Jamie waved his hand with a flop. “I guess you can do your roomie thing and keep each other company.” 

Dean was perplexed by Jamie’s comment, but decided to wait and see what he meant by ‘keep each other company.’ When they later arrived at Pantheon, however, Dean understood that it wasn’t meant to be just the three of them.

He gave Jamie a judgemental look when Dean spotted Jamie’s sometimes-friends waiting by the entrance, all dressed up for a night out. Ignoring him, Jamie bounded out of their taxi and greeted the group with too much energy. It seemed they knew Connor by the way they thanked him for treating them.

“This is the cousin,” Jamie said with a dismissive twirl of his hand. He was more interested in ushering them past the long line of envious partygoers. No doubt he hoped Dean would drop the issue.

Dean did let his cousin get away with a lot, but as far as he knew, Jamie was ensnaring an innocent man. Dean suspected that Connor was a nice, but naive boy, none too wise about the world. Staring at Jamie as they filtered into the cordoned-off VIP section of the club, Dean could tell it was beginning to annoy him.

Hanging behind his sometime-friends, who were unloading their jackets and purses on the modern, obsidian-colored lounges, Jamie flipped his hair at him and said, “You’re the last person to judge me.”

Dean grinned, though with a streak of chill. “I didn’t say anything.” But it pleased him that his little cousin still cared about what he thought.

“I don’t do it that often,” he said, pouting. “Just when I want to treat myself. Today was a bad day, Dean, don’t start with me tonight. Plus, Connor doesn’t mind.”

Dean glanced at the man in question, who was sitting with his hands on his knees. His posture was straight and stiff, like he might fall to pieces if he relaxed. “Yo, he doesn’t --” he began, then saw that Jamie had taken the chance to slip away.

Sighing, he plopped himself next to Connor, who scooted over. No use crying over spilt milk, Dean thought as he helped himself to a glass of neat Macallan 18. Seeing that Connor was without a drink, he poured him a portion too. Without waiting for Connor to figure out what he wanted, Dean clinked his glass against the other’s. 

Crossing a leg over the other, he took a sip and realized that this was the first time he was alone with his roommate. He glanced at Connor, who was nursing the whiskey in his lap and watching the dance floor, though he showed no interest in joining. Dean was dying of curiosity, but the music was pumping, and he wasn’t in the mood to yell over the bass beats. 

Instead he let his imagination run wild with the scenarios that brought those two together. Was it blackmail? Jamie was pushy, but he wasn’t so persuasive that he could just convince someone to rent a room or buy bottle service. The idea that Connor could have feelings for Jamie struck him, but that baffled him so much that his glances turned into a long stare.

If that were the case, then Dean pitied him. Even if Jamie did reciprocate, he’d bleed Connor dry of money, energy, and sanity. When Connor finally turned to meet Dean’s piercing eyes, Dean smiled warmly. Infatuation was a hell of a drug, he thought as Connor dropped his gaze and took a sip. Not interested in persuading Connor to talk, Dean got up to join the rest of the party. He couldn't help Connor with his hypothetical crush, nor did he intend to pry. He figured that there was no way but to suffer through it anyway. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always feel like I wrote a lot but then I post here and feel disappointed ha ha.


	4. He Won't Say It

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's coworker reaches out to Dean unexpectedly and Dean is happy to offer a sympathetic ear.

Dean’s heart jumped into his throat when he saw the text from Ray: _hey are you home_

Next, he pinballed the restaurant, begging his coworkers and the general manager to go home early instead of helping to close up shop. Amid the flurry of promises to make up for it, one shrewd coworker told him that he could go if Dean gave the real reason he had to leave early. 

But by then he’d already gotten the manager’s permission, so untying his apron, Dean answered with a glowing smile and skipped out of the restaurant. He splurged on a ride back home, rather than risking it with the subway. As he waited for his ride, he replied to the text, _what’s up? i’m around._

After seven excruciating minutes, in which Dean began to regret leaving work early for nothing, Ray texted back, _can i stop by?_

Now in the car, Dean couldn’t help but stare at the unexpected message to figure out the reason Ray reached out. He forced down the vague, hopeful feeling that bubbled up, trying to use logic to calm himself. They were friendly and Ray had visited his place before, so it wasn’t some earth-shattering development.

 _sure, i’ll meet you downstairs,_ Dean furiously typed while giving the red traffic light an anguished look. He was still five minutes away from his apartment, but it felt like time slowed down just for him. As soon as the car pulled over to the corner, Dean flew from the backseat, not bothering to close the door.

Sprinting through the apartment parking lot, he was mortified to find Ray at the entrance. His phone vibrated in his hand as he jogged up to Ray, who looked surprised. Doubled over with his hands on his knees, Dean took a moment to catch his breath and think of an excuse. 

Instead, he stood up and with a smile said, “Hey.”

“Hi,” Ray replied. He didn’t mention the fact that Dean didn’t come from his apartment, but he looked distracted anyway. 

“Come in,” Dean said. He waved Ray into his building and led him up to his apartment. “So what’s up?” he asked, hiding his dismay that he had to climb stairs right after his mad dash. 

“Taking you up on your offer,” Ray said. “I have more questions.” He spoke carefully and without enthusiasm, and in fact, looked resigned.

“Something bothering you?” Dean asked over his shoulder, unlocking his door. “Let me get you a drink. Beer okay?” 

Ray nodded, accepting the bottle and taking several gulps. With a loud sigh, he thanked him and plunked himself down at the kitchen island. Joining him with his own low-carb drink, Dean gave Ray space to collect himself, when the smell of wafting cigarette smoke caught his attention. He frowned, reminding himself to tell Jamie to nag Connor to stop smoking so much.

“Man, college is rough,” Ray said. “It sucks that we pay to work hard, but still aren’t guaranteed anything.”

Dean nodded, feeling a little self-conscious that he didn’t go to college, but Ray never held that against him. 

“If it weren’t for college, then I wouldn’t have to do,” he pauses before finishing, “what we do.” 

Dean never judged him for his reasons for doing porn. Everyone had their stories and money woes was a common one. He understood why Ray wanted to stay out of social media much as possible. He had a proper life waiting for him. With a bitter taste in his mouth, Dean shrugged and said, “It can’t be so bad. You get paid to have sex and you only top.”

“You’re not wrong,” Ray replied. He bit the rim of the beer bottle and added more quietly, “but it scares me, how good it feels.”

Pretending not to hear the conflict in his tone, Dean said with a reassuring smile, “Sex is _supposed_ to feel good. It means you’re doing it right, right?”

Ray took another sip and nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Plus I shouldn’t overthink something that’s temporary.” 

But what about me? Dean thought, his words pricking his heart. He sipped his drink to push down his petty feelings.

“What about you?” Ray asked, making Dean wonder if he spoke aloud. “I mean, you’re not going to do this forever, are you?”

It wasn’t an unusual question, but Dean preferred not to think about it. “No,” he said after a pause, “but I don’t know what I want to do.” He chuckled, then hated that he did that, as if he had said a joke.

“Isn’t that why you go to college? To figure it out?” Ray asked. Dean could hear the sarcasm in his voice, so he wasn’t sure if Ray was encouraging him to go.

“You tell me,” Dean said with a smile, trying to bring some levity back into their conversation. “What have you figured out?”

“Honestly, Dean,” Ray said, laughing without warmth, “all I’m learning is that it just gets complicated.”

“What a rip-off,” Dean said. “I could have told you that for free.”

A genuine smile formed on Ray’s face and Dean was pleased, but he was dying to know the reason Ray stopped by, so he nudged the subject. “You didn’t come over to tell me to go to college, did you?” Dean asked, playing coy.

Ray glanced at Connor’s door, which was closed as usual, then stared at the bottle in his hands. “I think I want to give bottoming a shot,” he said. His reddening face made him look uncomfortable. 

“Oh,” Dean replied, though not too surprised. After their last conversation, Dean could guess what was on Ray’s mind. “Well, you only have to ask.“

“I know,” Ray replied, rubbing the back of his neck. “I did bring it up with Steve, and he let me know what I need to do to prepare...and how much it pays.“

Steve was one of the studio producers and no doubt he talked it up. It wasn’t a secret that Ray was straight, so his “debut” as a bottom would be a tantalizing moneymaker.

“He said I could keep my face hidden,” Ray continued as Dean listened and pondered. He took another sip of beer. “I had no idea how much it paid,” he added.

The desperate look in Ray’s eyes both saddened and frustrated Dean. Sure, doing porn for money wasn’t anything to be proud of, but he didn’t appreciate the implication that bottoming was reaching a new low, when Dean did it frequently. 

“So what’s stopping you?” Dean asked with a head tilt. He was having a hard time hiding his displeasure, but Ray didn’t notice. He wouldn’t look up from that harassed beer bottle. 

Ray shrugged, picking the label off. “I don’t know,” he said, his voice quiet and unsure. “What if I like it?”

“Is _that_ really the worst thing that can happen?” Dean blurted out, amazed at his coworker. If he likes it, great, he can join the thousands like him. Jesus, what year was it?

“No, it’s not,” Ray quickly rejoined, “but I’ve had more sex with men than women this year.” He shrugged again, which reminded Dean of Connor, but timidity was a bad look for Ray. “I just-- it gets confusing.” Distracted, he bit the rim of the bottle again. 

Dean was confused as well. He wasn’t sure what answer Ray was looking for. He certainly couldn’t tell Ray how to feel, but Ray looked like he needed a kind ear. After all, Dean was the only one he could talk to about this. 

Sighing, Dean leaned in with a half-smile. “Sorry, I know it’s not easy. How can I help?” he asked. The poor guy came for advice, as Dean had offered, and Dean was throwing it back in his face. 

A grateful smile broke over his face like the sun on a cloudy day. “You’re a really nice guy,” Ray said. “You’ve always looked out for me.”

Dean’s smile broadened as a little flutter unsettled his chest. It was a pity that Ray shunned social media. A lot of viewers asked after the tall, freckled brunette with the ideal v-shaped body, the wide shoulders sloping to a sturdy chest and slim hips. The one with the crooked, but adorable nose.

Then a gentle nudge on Dean’s nose broke his thoughts and without grasping the situation, Dean let Ray kiss him. Emotions like fireworks exploded in his head and numbed his brain, so on autopilot Dean met Ray with soft, hesitant, but purposeful kisses. 

Hands balled tightly in his lap, in a daze Dean stared at Ray pulling back and licking his lips. “Sorry,” he said. “I wanted to try. I know you don’t like me like that.”

Dean knew in retrospect that he should have gotten angry. He wasn’t a confused boy’s experiment, regardless of how cute he was. But a lover at heart, with a flirty smirk Dean replied, “Can you say the same for you?” 

Ray downed the beer in one go. “I don’t know,” he said, shrugging like he was okay with anything. 

Trying not to tremble too hard in his seat, Dean said, “I don’t mind if you want to keep going until you figure it out.” He couldn’t even pretend that he was teasing, so he went with a blank look. 

Ray laughed, though Dean didn’t catch the joke. “You know what’s wild? Kissing was the only thing we haven’t done together,” he said. “Now that we’ve done it, I think I have enough to go on.”

Enough to go on for _what_? Dean thought, but Ray was already standing up to leave.

“Wait, you’re leaving already?” Dean asked with surprise, trailing Ray to the front door. “You’ve been drinking.”

“I took the bus from school since it’s close,” Ray replied, shrugging off Dean’s concern. “I have to get back to finish a paper. Plus my stuff is all there.”

A part of Dean was annoyed that he was just a pitstop for Ray, another part was titillated that Ray took time out of his busy college schedule to see him. It meant that he was on his mind, enough to notice that Dean’s apartment was close to his college, enough to drop his belongings to see him.

“Wait,” Dean said, tugging at Ray’s sleeve. In the same vein, Dean grasped for something meaningful to say to Ray without looking desperate. “Something to add to your perspective. You know, when you grow up seeing only straight couples, straight romance, you get an overwhelming sense of what’s normal, even when you know you’re not. So don’t be hard on yourself. Some people are never sure.”

Ray looked as though he took Dean’s words to heart by the way he paused and wrinkled his brow. “I didn’t think of it that way,” he said. “I’m, um, glad I came.” With a half-smile Ray let himself out and Dean, leaning on the doorframe, watched him disappear downstairs. 

Closing the door behind him, Dean all but twirled to the couch and clutched his hands to his chest. He closed his eyes and tried to commit to memory the feel of Ray’s lips, the way he licked them after. Ray was right; they’d never kissed before and that got him harder than any nasty trick he’d done on film. 

A flash of good judgment reminded him that he shouldn’t jack off in the living room. On cue, he caught a whiff of smoke and he scowled at the thought that Connor might have been snooping on a fragile moment. No wonder Ray looked worried before. Dean didn’t want to lose his erection though, so he scurried to his bedroom. 

Though he was stroking his cock with thoughts full of Ray naked in his bed, Dean was convinced that he was just overstimulated by his emotional confession. If by the end Ray decided that he was into men, or specifically Dean, then Dean could help him make sense of it, like a good friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh i'm so behind but hope you enjoy. as always best place to reach me is on twitter @starbasefive.


	5. Shattered In One Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Snatched from a good mood, Dean faces painful truths about his relationships.

“It’s a two drink minimum, ladies,” Dean said to the table of women, though he offered an apologetic shrug and a honeyed smile. Not a peep nor frown was heard nor seen as they flustered at the scantily clad waiter. Maybe they could sense that Dean was in a good mood tonight. His eyes sparkled brightly and his hips swiveled flirtatiously when he flitted around to take orders before the show started.

Once the lights dimmed and the curtains swept back to reveal the spotlit stage, decorated in vivid, multi-colored tapestries, Dean could relax for at least five minutes. The announcer warmed up the crowd with a few lame, but good-natured jokes, and then the first act appeared through shadow and billowing mist.

Dean enjoyed burlesque, but couldn’t see himself doing it. The flamboyance and finesse were more up Jamie’s alley, and in fact, his cousin, who had helped him get this job, was backstage helping the performers get ready for their sets. It was stranger that Jamie wasn’t up there, but Dean didn’t care to unravel that knot tonight. He was having fun, the show was electrifying and the customers gave generous tips. 

Afterward, when the show was over, Jamie popped into the backroom where Dean was changing out of his outfit. Dean faked a shriek as he cried out, “Pervert!” 

“Oh my God, stop,” Jamie said, hitting Dean with his crossbody purse, but he was smiling and Dean was laughing at his bad joke. “Everyone’s going to Five and Thirteen after, let’s go too.” 

“That bar all over Instagram?” Dean asked. His voice was muffled as he pulled a shirt over his head. “I need to get that drink so I can take pictures with it.” He wasn’t wearing the most fashionable clothes, but then again, he didn’t want to look like he was trying too hard. 

“Get my drink too?” Jamie asked, following Dean out and sidling next to him. “I hate standing and waiting at the bar.”

Dean pinched his little cousin’s cheek. “You stopped being cute at like, six. You have to pay me back,” he said, but Jamie escaped his grip to catch up to the burlesque performers. What was family if you couldn’t take them for granted, Dean thought with a sigh, but he was well-aware of Jamie’s hunger for social standing. Not yet outgrown his high school tendencies, Jamie would step on anyone to look a little cooler, be taken a little more seriously. 

When they arrived at Five and Thirteen and showed their IDs to the bouncer, Jamie nudged Dean to get drinks while he settled comfortably in the lounge area that was reserved for the group. To punish him, Dean took the time to wander the room and admire the scene. 

“Five & Thirteen” was more mainstream than his typical haunts, but was featured non-stop on all of the social media platforms. Dean could see why: it was decorated to be a steampunk speakeasy, their cocktails appealed to all the senses, and the crowd was young and beautiful. It was no wonder that Jamie was eager to come, but Dean wouldn’t pretend that he was above it. They were close cousins, after all. 

As he meandered to the bar counter, he saw a translucent, smoking, lavender-colored cocktail make its way to a customer, holding her phone to capture the moment, while her male companion took out his wallet to pay. Dean craned forward because that was the drink he wanted to order. The blacklight gave it an exciting, but eerie glow that would look great in pictures.

The woman beckoned her companion closer so they could take a selfie. They positioned themselves behind the drink so the glow and smoke could frame their faces dramatically. She was into it, giving her best glower, but the man was more preoccupied with her than anything else. Given how easily he had shelled out money for the expensive, handcrafted cocktail, it was obvious that the man was trying to impress the woman.

After she’d taken the picture, the man looked up and accidentally locked eyes with Dean across the bar, as strangers do. Dean glanced back at the young woman, and then, because he couldn’t believe his eyes, again exchanged looks with his co-worker, Ray.

This time, Ray recognized him. A lot was said in the moment they silently acknowledged each other. What Ray conveyed was a favor, a plea: don’t ruin this for him. A la Jamie, Dean could have shoved himself between the two and, eyes unblinking into hers, reveal half-truths - how Ray fucked him regularly (for work), how close they were (as friends). Ruin fucking everything.

Instead, Dean stood still as he studied more closely the tattooed, petite, dyed-ghost-blonde-haired woman who snagged Ray’s attention. Her little perky ways gave Dean a visceral reaction of inadequacy, especially because Ray found them charming. Dean could see his knees practically buckling because he was that smitten.

“Hey, you want something?” the bartender shouted at Dean over the noisy bar, which brought him back to his surroundings. “If not, get out of the way.”

Jostled by other impatient patrons, who were waiting for the free space, Dean croaked, “Rum and coke, and two double tequila sodas with lime.”

Only after paying did Dean wonder why he’d ordered three drinks. Because he was an apparent masochist, with glasses in his arms Dean turned back toward the couple, who was taking more selfies. Dean understood why Ray never wanted Dean to take his pictures, but it still hurt to see Ray be enthusiastic for her.

Dean fought his closing throat and tried to stay calm, but thoughts attacked him at all sides. He was feeling a mix of stark realization, embarrassment, and, to his frustration, heartbreak. Filling in the gaps between Ray's sparse words, Dean had concocted and then fooled himself into believing there was _something_ between them. The heavy looks they just shared made his stomach sink. In seconds Dean figured out that even if they had kissed, even if Ray was nice to him, even if Ray needed him, their relationship wouldn't be more than a dirty secret. 

He thought that he was smarter than that, but the truth was he had been blindsided. Despite his hectic life and the concentrated effort not to think about it, bits of unhappiness snuck into his psyche, which then clung to the first sign of relief. Worse, this wasn't the first time he'd done this. 

Walking the drinks back to the group, Dean was annoyed to find no room for him. Everyone was paying rapt attention to Jamie, who was recalling a wardrobe malfunction in the middle of a performance. They laughed on cue when Jamie described and pantomimed how a performer tripped and fell on a torn pant leg, then shimmied their way onto their feet as if it were intentional.

Dean glared at Jamie until he noticed him. Not budging an inch, he made Jamie rise from his seat to grab his drink. Giving Dean a onceover from head to toe, he asked, “What’s up with your face? Why do you have two drinks?”

Dean chose not to answer, and as soon as a hand was free, took a massive gulp of one of his tequila sodas. He winced at the burn, but at least the drink was low carb. Jamie looked annoyed, but that was because neither of them was good at expressing concern for each other.

“Come sit,” Jamie ordered, leading him back to the couch. He apologized to the others as he asked them to move over for Dean, who wedged himself against Jamie. Dean noted that his cousin didn’t complain beyond a huff and shoulder jerk, which he appreciated.

Leaning his head on his cousin’s shoulder, Dean nursed his drink and took sips as he listened to Jamie prattle in his vivacious, clever way. He noticed that Jamie was good at engaging in different social situations while staying detached. He was so good at wearing masks and being likable when he wanted to. Surely he’d never trick himself into believing in non-existent relationships.

Dean felt stupid for wallowing in pain that he caused himself. He tried to muster anger towards Ray but instead listed all the ways he himself was disappointing. Borrowing words from his mother, he labeled himself as spineless, naive, and indecisive. No wonder he had feelings for someone who was ashamed of their connection, given his low self-esteem.

“Are you okay?” asked not Jamie, but one of the stagehands who noticed his gloomy mood. 

“Yeah, just tired,” he said, but he was too quiet to be heard over the loud music. He was both embarrassed and touched to have been noticed, but he didn’t have the motivation to speak up. In fact, he wanted to go home.

“He’s fine,” Jamie said, waving off the stranger. To Dean, he asked, “Seriously what happened? You’re killing the vibe.”

After taking a big, stubborn sip, Dean replied, “Don’t worry about it. I’ll stop.” 

The alcohol was loosening him up and Dean felt like he could muster some sociability. He straightened in his seat and forced himself to be interested in whatever Jamie was showing an acquaintance. He watched Jamie flip through a few photos of some night before when a message notification popped up.

 _whenever you want,_ Connor replied, it seemed, to a previous text.

 _ok,_ Jamie shot back and swiped away the message to return to his conversation. 

Dean waited for a lull before asking, “Why don’t you invite Connor out?” He spoke into Jamie’s ear, otherwise, his cousin was sure to grab someone else’s attention, then Dean would never get a word in edgewise. 

With a half-shrug and an irked bent of his eyebrow, he replied, “Nah, I don’t feel like it.” His phone received another message, which Jamie opened and replied to with much more enthusiasm. 

“Then I’ll text him,” Dean said, pulling out his phone. This was a great distraction from his own misery and he couldn’t resist pushing his cousin’s buttons. The last time the three of them went out, Jamie barely interacted with Connor or Dean. Maybe it would be harder to ignore both of them in a casual setting.

“Dooon’t,” Jamie whined, holding Dean’s wrist. “He can be such a fucking drag.”

Shocked at his reaction, Dean’s lips thinned and tightened unconsciously, suppressing disgust in the back of his throat. Family ties aside, Jamie could be an awful bitch. Jamie’s exploits were often amusing, but because Dean knew one of his punching bags, it wasn’t as fun. He even felt guilty for laughing at Jamie’s stories before.

Deciding his night was over, Dean rose from his seat, chugged his second drink in two gulps, and said, “Hey, um, I’m gonna go home.”

Jamie did a little hop in his seat so that he could face Dean. “What? You just sat down!” he whined, but Dean brushed him off as he left the bar feeling jaded. 

No patience for public transit, he took a taxi straight home and brooded all the way there, the smell and noise of the bar lingering in his head. The thought that Jamie could brush someone off in the way Ray had brushed off Dean was, at the moment, unbearable. Still, a part of him was jealous of Jamie. Nothing seemed to bother him as long as Jamie got his way, often with impunity. Dean on the other hand fell to pieces when his heart suffered for idiotic reasons. Times like these made him feel he couldn’t survive as Jamie could. 

When Dean arrived home, he was well drunk and forgot to lock the door after him. Plus, he was kind of mad and moody, so he knocked not so quietly on Connor’s bedroom door.

“Hey, you here?” he hollered, his question less casual than it sounded. Because he felt particularly vulnerable, Dean texted Connor the exact same words.

 _Yeah,_ Connor replied in a minute, probably concerned about Dean’s banging. 

_Can I come in,_ Dean asked, hazily noting that Jamie would have barged in without warning.

As soon as he got an uncertain _ok_ , Dean opened the door with more tact. He stepped into a dark room, illuminated only by the light of the large screen TV. His eyes adjusted to see Connor nestled in his enormous bed, surrounded by a snug pile of pillows, fingers wrapped around a game controller, and looking at Dean.

Dean felt so dumb that his feet became numb, and had no idea what his impulsive self expected. Rather, he knew what he wanted to do: he wanted to plop onto the bed and have a rant session with Connor on how shitty his cousin was, but he didn’t know how to arrive at that scenario. First, he’d have to explain what Jamie had said, but that wouldn’t explain why Dean was so upset since he barely knew Connor. He certainly didn’t want to revisit when he spotted Ray.

If he were sober, he would have had the social awareness to back out, but in a rude burst he’d already ruined Connor’s impression of him. He looked down at the bed he had admired for its softness and in two steps he fell face-first into it.

The cool sheets on his skin were so comforting that he forgot about feeling awkward. He had had a miserable night and his drunken self couldn’t help but curl into a ball. The television’s glow reminded him of home when he fell asleep watching reruns and waiting for his mom to come home from work. The sound of Connor unpausing his game relieved him, a welcome break in the awkward silence. Feeling less like an intruder, Dean passed out. 

But, as one does in a strange bed, Dean woke with a start. Though the alcohol had worn off, Dean lifted his head disoriented. The bed was empty, save for himself, and a blanket had been draped over his sleeping body, which explained why he felt snug and warm. The smell of cigarette smoke registered and he could see the outline of Connor’s face on the balcony, partially lit by the small embers and facing outward. 

He had enough awareness to know that it was a good time to slip out. Quietly he slid out of bed and out of the room, leaning his back against Connor’s door when he closed it. He glanced at the sliding door in the living room, where it connected to the balcony. Deciding that Connor couldn’t see him, Dean made a break for his bedroom, diving headfirst into his bed, which was less soft than Connor’s. He squeezed his eyes shut to force himself to sleep, to stop thinking, and to leave this night behind.


	6. Not Your Business Anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nursing a hangover from last night, Dean is confronted by his annoyed and worried cousin.

He could squeeze in a gym session another day, Dean thought as he fumbled with and dropped his pesky, earsplitting phone. After he turned off the alarm, he rolled over to sleep off his hangover a little longer, but the memories from last night crept back, replaying beneath his eyelids.

The way he had acted like a sulky brat haunted him and kept him from sleep, plus he was starting to feel ill and dehydrated. Cracking his crusty eyes open, he squinted at the ceiling. He still wouldn’t force himself to go to the gym. He figured he deserved some time to feel sorry for himself.

The heartbreak and disappointment from last night had dulled into a cringey feeling. Dean needed to stop expecting much from others and he needed to stop being dramatic when they let him down. We’re all human and we’re all bound to disappoint each other, he rationalized, though the thought offered no comfort. There was nothing to look forward to when he was just waiting for the next person to let him down. 

Not that he was much better. The way he imposed on his roommate was rude and more importantly, uncool. Sure, Connor wasn’t the best roommate with his chain-smoking and antisocial habits, but Dean didn’t want him to leave. On cue -- at this point it was inevitable -- Dean could smell that goddamn smoke waft into his room. He regretted letting Jamie convince him to take Connor. So what if he was rich? Dean wasn’t a gold digger like Jamie and just needed someone to pay rent on time.

He fumed in his bed as he thought of all of his hard-earned stuff absorbing the trashy smell of cigarettes until he felt his stomach turn. Scrambling out of bed, he ran to the bathroom, slammed the toilet seat up, and vomited his tequila-soaked guts out. With the bile flushed out of his system, Dean vaguely remembered how he had woken up in Connor’s bed covered with a blanket.

It was a kind gesture and as annoying as Connor’s smoking was, Dean shouldn’t have banged on his door and thrown himself onto his bed. It was hypocritical of him to want privacy from his roommate, and then invade Connor’s space. With a cough, he flushed the toilet and decided he could forgive the smoking today. 

He trudged to the kitchen to grab water and ibuprofen. After forcing himself to drink an extra glass of water, Dean opened the fridge and debated whether he should get take-out. He didn’t binge alcohol often, so he tended to forget how awful hangovers were. He cursed his past self for leaving future Dean to deal with the fallout. He didn’t even have a good time last night and here he was, paying for it.

The fridge began to hum to compensate for the open door, which had been held for too long, so Dean almost didn’t hear the sound of Connor’s door opening. He turned to catch sight of Connor closing it quietly. The way he adjusted his bag on his shoulder was delicate like he was taking great care not to shatter. Connor caught him gaping and he froze, startled by Dean’s presence.

Dean winced, hoping they could avoid each other for a few weeks, but the duffel bag slung over Connor’s shoulder surprised him. Thinking slowly, he asked, “Are you moving out?”

“No,” Connor replied, standing in place and looking like he was waiting. Dean couldn’t tell if last night affected him because his expression was uneasy, per usual. 

“Oh, okay,” Dean said with a dumb nod. Not knowing what Connor was waiting for and uncomfortable with the silence, he added, “Good.”

Connor nodded, then his glance darted behind Dean’s unusually cold shoulders. It took another back-and-forth glance between Dean and the open fridge for Dean to realize what Connor was doing. When he closed the door, Dean found him halfway out of the apartment. 

At the last minute, Dean croaked after him, “Bye,” which got him a look of acknowledgment before Connor left with a click of the lock. 

Dean asked himself, was that weird? He gazed at the closed door until his eyes unfocused, lost in his thoughts. It was weird. He _made_ it weird. Reflecting made Dean self-conscious and reflecting on his reflecting made his skin tingle more, like a downward spiral.

Sick, hungry, and feeling pathetic, he ate a banana while trying to conjure the taste of fried plantains. Failing miserably he crawled into bed, but his body was so cold that he couldn’t sleep, which he desperately needed if he wanted to survive his afternoon shift at the cafe.

He swore he was just about to fall asleep when he heard knocking at the door. He knew it was Jamie, because who else could it be, but the subsequent pounding and muffled shouting confirmed it. Expecting no less from his dramatic cousin, Dean opened the door to see Jamie holding at face level a plastic bag. 

He grabbed it and opened it on the countertop, leaving Jamie to let himself in. He almost shed a tear at the take-out box of two fried eggs on a steaming heap of rice and beans with a side of fried plantains. Two bites in and he was hooked. 

Of course, Jamie knew it was the best time to corner Dean. “So what happened last night?“ he asked, sitting across from Dean at the granite-top island. “Did I piss you off or what?”

Dean dug into the bag to see what sauces came with it. He still didn’t want to discuss Ray with Jamie, so he asked, “You said Connor was a drag. What did you mean by that?”

Jamie pinched his lips before he replied, “I meant what I said. He doesn’t talk to anyone. You don’t think I’ve tried to get him out of his shell? You think people aren’t interested in getting to know him? But he’s always moping by himself and killing the vibe. I need a break too.”

“That’s still not nice,” Dean shot back, regaining energy from the warm, hearty meal. “It doesn’t seem like he has any friends.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and said, “I wonder why.” With a spare spoon, he took a bite of the rice and asked, “Why do you care anyway? He doesn’t butt into your business, you don’t butt into his. That’s what you wanted, right?“

Dean could sense that Jamie would soon uncover the true reason he was upset, so he pushed his campaign to get Jamie to be nicer to Connor. “How can you not feel sorry for him though?”

“Have you even had a conversation with him? You’re just going off what you see. You don’t _know_ him,” Jamie snapped. His tone was testy, but Dean knew that Jamie knew it wasn’t really about Connor. Jamie was annoyed that Dean was being evasive, and Dean was annoyed that Jamie was being nosy.

Dean kept quiet, thinking about how Jamie didn’t know everything about Connor either. He guessed Jamie wasn’t aware that Connor had left the house or that he let Dean stay in his room last night. It was satisfying that they could keep secrets from Jamie, regardless of how insignificant they were.

Once Dean ate his fill, he closed the box and let Jamie squirm in the silence as he went back to his room. As expected, Jamie followed him. “Okay, I’m being defensive,” he confessed, sitting at the foot of Dean’s bed, “but don’t nag at me to be better. At least I’m getting him outside. What have _you_ done to be nice?”

Dean hated that his cousin was right, but maybe if Connor poked his head out once in a while, they’d have some kind of a rapport. Plus, every time they did interact, Connor looked so anxious, like Dean was going to say something mean or hurt him. He couldn’t impose on someone who had the demeanor of a rodent.

The bed creaked as Jamie crawled over to lay next to Dean. “What’s this about?” Jamie asked. He leaned on Dean’s shoulder, his sharp chin sinking into it. 

“Stop it, I feel fucking awful,” Dean snapped, elbowing Jamie away. He resented his cousin’s patronizing tone when it wasn’t so long ago that Jamie was a tag-along that copied Dean’s habits and outfits. 

Dean expected Jamie to storm out but instead felt him curl up against his back. Sullen, Dean closed his eyes and hardened his heart. He was determined to stay unhappy. 

“What happened?” Jamie asked, then continued without waiting for Dean’s answer, knowing it wouldn’t come. “You were fine when we got to the bar, but when you came back with drinks you looked upset. You couldn’t get your mind off of it.”

Another silence, heavy with anticipation, settled between them. “Did something happen at work?” Jamie asked. “Did someone recognize you?”

The next bout of silence was longer. This was the second time Jamie directly referred to Dean’s work, the first time being when Jamie asked Dean if he really did star in porn. His body became warm as he remembered the embarrassment of Jamie finding out from an acquaintance. Jamie didn’t condemn him outright, but afterward, Dean could guess from vague comments that he didn’t approve. Dean was too scared to ask Jamie about his opinions, and since Jamie never confronted him, they carried on like normal.

Jamie shook his shoulder, interrupting his thoughts. “Someone recognized you, didn’t they?” he asked. “What if they’re stalking you? Dean, what happened?”

This was the last thing he needed while he was hungover. “Jamie, stop!” he groaned, smacking his hand away. He rolled over to face Jamie, looking suspicious and worried. “That doesn’t happen as often as you think, and most of them are too closeted to approach me anyway. I mean, even coworkers ignore me.”

Said out loud, the last sentence sounded sadder, and less like a self-deprecating joke. Dean regretted mentioning his coworkers at all because Jamie noticed the bitter tone.

“Is that why you’re upset?” Jamie asked. He crossed his arms over his chest. “Why would that bother you? Unless--” He shot Dean an exasperated look. “Dean,” he said, the tone drenched with disappointment. “Again?”

He hated how sharp Jamie’s intuition was. This was exactly why Dean did not want Jamie to know. At this moment Jamie saw the teenage version of Dean, one who easily caught feelings and naively believed promises to come out to parents and date openly. Jamie wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he knew that Dean had fallen for a coworker, or worse, a straight one.

Dean had long come to terms that he was a sentimental people-person, and to his credit, he’d done a good job enforcing boundaries until now, but none of that would matter to Jamie. He’d point out Dean’s weaknesses and give a shallow, unhelpful observation of what he should have done -- insensitive habits picked up from their childhood. 

“Please, my head is killing me,” Dean whined. “I’ve got to get some sleep before my shift.” 

Jamie exhaled a quick, annoyed sigh. “Fine,” he said. “I’ll drop it, but you have to leave me alone about Connor.”

Eyes closed, Dean remembered when they used to cover for each other’s lies in their dysfunctional family. Relying on each other for understanding and sympathy, they were a united front against his demanding mother and their flighty grandmother. Then their alliance fell apart as they grew apart, their priorities no longer aligned. Dean didn’t know if they had misconceptions about each other or if they were maturing into different people. Either way, he wasn’t how sure he felt about his cousin anymore.

The thought took him aback, but Jamie intruded before he could mull it over. “Well?” he asked.

“Okay, I’ll stop,” Dean said, keeping his eyes closed and brows furrowed. He decided that he'd play dumb and never mention anything about Connor again to Jamie. He figured anything that happened between him and his roommate, and in fact any of Dean’s relationships, didn’t need to concern his cousin anymore.


	7. A Turn of Events

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Distracted by his own woes and hangups, Dean is surprised to learn more about his roommate, Connor.

The TV quietly droned in the background and provided the only light in the living room that night. Tucked between a thick blanket and his couch, Dean was swiping through pictures and reviewing his frolicking over the past week. To distract himself from recent events, he had been hitting the clubs and bars with friendly acquaintances. The snapshot of him grinning while an anonymous arm snaked around his waist reminded Dean of what happened after the picture had been taken. Pushed against a wall, Dean had locked lips with a cute stranger, who groped his way up Dean’s cut body and moaned his approval.

It felt good to be unambiguously desired. It was nice to be surrounded by people who didn’t get under his skin or hold his childhood blunders against him. All they knew was a cool, mature, and sexy Dean. The past few days were meant to be like a cleansing ritual or a mental reset, where Dean could purge negative thoughts and remember that he could socialize just fine without his cousin, that he could easily find someone who wanted him.

Every time morning came, however, these feelings dissipated, leaving a vague sense of frustration, like he’d been rowing a boat with one oar. He didn’t have anything to show for all his partying and he still felt like the same Dean, except with more photos and the bruises from the hard, drive-by pinches he’d gotten on his ass. He was beginning to grow restless and weary of the constant partying.

Dean chewed a nail while tackling a more immediate problem: writing a good caption for his newest Instagram post. The perfect words were on the edge of his mind, ready to burst forth in social media glory when the sound of a key fumbling against the door lock interrupted his train of thought. Witnessing Connor enter the apartment was a rare event, so Dean looked up in anticipation. 

His eyes widened when he saw two figures stumble in. Connor’s arm was slung around the shoulders of a shorter man, which meant Connor, drunk and unable to walk straight, was being half-dragged inside. The stranger, who cut a striking figure in his suit, tried to set Connor down on the floor but was pulled into an awkward embrace.

Dean could hear Connor take deep breaths, as if trying to gather himself, then slurred, “Thank you so much. Just you being here helps so much.” His voice trembled and between soft sobs, he begged, “Don’t leave me this time. You don’t know how much I missed you.”

The stranger patted Connor’s shivering back. “I know,” he said. “Come on, let me get you water, then I’ll get you to bed.” He untangled himself from Connor’s grasp and let him droop to the ground like a wilted flower.

Then the stranger fumbled to open the cabinets in the dark, searching for a cup. Meanwhile, Connor curled into a fetal position, his body shaking as he continued to cry. Frozen to his seat, Dean watched the scene with morbid curiosity until the stranger, in the middle of filling a mug at the sink, glanced up.

At first, the stranger was startled by the sight of Dean staring, then his expression darkened with what looked like disgust. Setting the mug down, the stranger knelt next to Connor to hoist him up with unexpected strength. Short, slender, but by no means weak, he managed to drape Connor’s dead weight over his shoulders.

The stranger wasted no time barging through the door and, from what Dean could hear, dumping Connor onto his bed. The fact that he knew which room was Connor’s meant that he’d been here before. Dean had been assuming that Connor was alone whenever he wasn’t with Jamie, but it never occurred to him that he could have other friends, let alone bring somebody over.

The stranger reappeared shortly after to fetch the mug of water and to shoot an acidic, disdainful glare at Dean. Too bewildered to be intimidated, Dean gaped back. Now that he was able to get a good look at Connor’s guest, he could see that he was beautiful. Glossy, dark, side-swept hair framed an angular face with high cheekbones, full lips, and slender eyes that were giving him a harsh once over.

Unimpressed, without a word the stranger stalked into Connor’s room and shut the door with a brisk snap. Dean waited a few seconds before scrambling across the couch to get closer to the drama. When he couldn’t hear more than sad, muffled moans through the door, Dean decided to camp out in the living room until someone left the room. 

He re-wrapped himself in his blanket to look casual, then pretended to keep busy on his phone. Instead, his mind gorged on the delicious scene that had played out in front of him. Amid questions of who the stranger was, the nature of his relationship with Connor, and how often he came over, Dean also wondered if Jamie knew about this mysterious man. Given their last argument, he wasn’t going to bring it up, but he guessed that Jamie wasn’t aware of him. Dean glowed in the pleasure of another secret that Jamie didn’t know. 

Dean alternated between glancing at Connor’s door and imagining what they were doing behind it. Eyebrows bent with impatience, he ended up falling asleep on the couch. His dreams were so realistic that he thought he was still awake. He imagined that the stranger urged Connor to move out, then suddenly the pair were making out on the kitchen floor, knowing that Dean was watching them. 

When the sharp smell of smoke woke him up with a start, he realized he’d been dreaming. He propped himself up on elbows and looked around. The TV was still on, but the living room was lit by the early morning sun. Checking his phone for the time, Dean fought his groggy brain to remember his work schedule, but it was usually the late afternoon to night shift.

Curiosity getting the better of him, Dean rolled off of the couch and for the first time, entered the balcony while Connor was there. Shutting the sliding door behind him, he took an awkward seat on the metal patio chair, left behind by past tenants. The chair came in a set with a table and another chair, which had been dragged to the other side of the balcony, where Connor sat.

Connor did not acknowledge Dean’s presence, but he did take a long drag from his cigarette as if trying to make a quick escape. After his valiant, but miserable effort, Connor doubled over quietly dry heaving. 

“Rough night?” Dean cheerfully asked, amused that Connor was desperate to avoid interaction. 

He smiled to reassure Connor, but Dean didn’t receive a reply. Maybe he thinks I’m teasing him, Dean thought. “You need water or pills?” he offered. 

Laying his cigarette in the ashtray, Connor rubbed his face in his hands and through his fingers replied, “I already took some.” Lifting his gaze revealed his bloodshot eyes and disheveled hair, though Connor stared into the distance to avoid eye contact. 

Dean recognized that this was a cue for him to bow out and leave Connor alone, but he wanted to be annoying today. He studied his reclusive roommate, smoking nervously and pretending not to notice him. A scrawny man, he sat hunched as if trying to curl up into a ball. His desire to shrink away from everyone and everything was the first thing Dean could describe about him. You almost forgot about his sandy blonde hair and jade green eyes. Despite the wreckage that smoking wrought on his body, Connor was good-looking in that brooding kind of way. 

Connor took another long but measured drag on his cigarette, and Dean, sensing that he was running out of time, said, “It was kind of loud last night.”

Eyes wide, Connor finally faced him. He swallowed and with a hoarse voice said, “I’m sorry we bothered you.” The guilt in his tone was palpable. 

“It would have been nice to get a heads up if you were going to have a guest,” Dean said, grinning pointedly. “I would have given you guys alone time.” The blush creeping on Connor’s face pleased him. 

“I’m sorry. I’ll let you know next time. It won’t happen again.” Connor dropped his gaze, gripping the sides of the patio chair until his knuckles turned white. 

“Don’t worry,” Dean quickly followed up. “We never talked about guests, but I’m okay as long as it’s reasonable.” He felt a pinprick of remorse for Connor’s reaction, so to lighten the mood, he added with a slow smile, “He was cute though. Is he still here?”

Now bright red, Connor licked his lips before shaking his head. “He went h-home.” Even his hand shook as he took another drawn-out pull.

Addiction was a powerful thing, Dean thought, if it made Connor stay despite his visible discomfort. Dean, on the other hand, was reaching his limit. Connor’s stranger wasn’t here, so he had less incentive to stick around. Plus, being outside didn’t help much with the smell of smoke.

“Hey, this makes us even by the way,” Dean said. “You let a drunk me bust into your room and pass out on your bed, so I won’t say anything about last night.” After standing up for a long stretch, he asked, “You didn’t tell Jamie about me doing that, did you?” 

Connor shook his head, then paused. Seeing the way Connor concentrated on his cigarette, Dean guessed that his words made Connor replay last night’s events. When Connor’s expression changed, Dean knew that Connor understood. Not only did Dean know that he brought a guest, but that he had seen the sobbing, the drunken confession, and being carried like a wounded animal into his room.

Ignoring the look of complete mortification on Connor’s face, he said, “Good.” After a deep yawn, he added, “I won’t tell him about this either. Want a smoothie?” 

Covering his mouth with a hand and the cigarette between his trembling fingers, Connor shook his head. 

Because he hadn’t intended to upset Connor this much, Dean wanted to reassure him. “Hey,” he said, making sure to catch his haggard gaze. “We’re roommates. This happens sometimes. You’re okay.” Giving his bony shoulder a heavy pat, Dean stepped back inside. 

Out of Connor’s sight, Dean tugged at his shirt to catch a whiff and frowned that it reeked of ashes. Still, he was in a much better mood, or at least something other than longing and moping. Until last night, it didn’t occur to Dean that there might be more to his roommate than a reclusive wallflower. The thought that he might get to unravel the mystery that was Connor gave him something to look forward to. 


	8. Let's Stop Being Strangers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Feeling lonely, Dean imposes on his roommate, Connor.

His eyes were always glued to his phone, but lately, there was a sense of urgency whenever a notification lit up the screen. Dean hadn’t spoken to either Jamie or Ray in a few weeks. He didn’t expect Ray to reach out, but by now Jamie would be blowing up his phone with some demand or other. He knew that their last meeting left loose ends, but they usually smoothed it over and pretended nothing happened. 

As for Ray, even if he did message first, Dean would have ignored it. He didn’t like the thought of carrying on as if nothing had happened, so Dean was determined to avoid him. They spoke most when they had shoots together or when they were in the studio at the same time. The former didn’t happen often, thankfully, but for the latter Dean escaped the studio as soon as his work was done. He had to be careful; when he spotted Ray for the first time after that night at the bar, Dean was surprised by the rush of feelings that followed. A swirl of longing and relief gripped his chest and his first instinct had been to hide.

On a positive note, this gave Dean plenty of time to hit the gym, relax in the sauna, and still go home earlier than usual. Today he even took a moment to contemplate the weather as he walked from the gym to the bus stop. He could smell the cold creeping into the air, though the ads on the bus touted beachy getaways. Summer was his favorite, but autumn was a comfort to look forward to. 

Not quite ready to let go of the heat, when Dean arrived home he fixed himself a post-workout smoothie which included an orange, a peach, and extra cayenne pepper. Noticing that Connor was on the balcony, he rushed to blend his drink but played it cool when he slid open the glass door. He sipped his drink and gazed at the moonlit horizon before he spoke. 

“Hey,” he said. The silence deepened and upon looking down Dean realized that Connor had been playing a video game and just paused it. The serious way Connor met his gaze embarrassed Dean, who only wanted attention because he was a little lonely.

“Have you heard from Jamie lately?” Dean asked, grateful for a legitimate question. 

Connor shook his head, his hands still wrapped around the paused handheld console. He was waiting for a cue from Dean, who chose to sit in the opposite seat. Hugging knees to chest, Dean let the words flow. 

“He hasn’t talked to you either? We got into it a few weeks ago, but I didn’t think he’d ignore you too.” With a bitter scoff, he added, “Like avoiding us is a punishment. Sometimes I get so tired of his nosy ass invading my life.”

Dean recalled his theory that Connor liked Jamie and glanced over for a reaction. He found his roommate with the console in his lap, his hands folded over it. Connor looked neither offended by nor sympathetic to Dean’s words. It was a more muted response than when Dean had mentioned his mysterious guest, so Dean tabled that theory in favor of Connor liking his friend instead. 

Then why did he put up with Jamie? He wondered if Connor liked being treated like a human wallet, and he hoped his cousin wasn’t so lame as to demand cash from him. Maybe Connor was so wealthy that it meant nothing to drop a few thousands here and there. Maybe Jamie meant nothing to Connor at all. 

That couldn’t be true, Dean decided, since Jamie was the only one to visit him, outside of his mystery man. He wished he could outright ask Connor his fill of questions, but it would be hypocritical to do so when Dean was guarded about his own life. Two drunken nights witnessed did not make close friends. 

Noticing the continued silence, Dean glanced over again and saw that Connor kept his game paused as he stared into the distance and fidgeted in his seat. He didn’t know why Connor was waiting, but to be friendly Dean said, “What are you playing over there?”

With a straight face, Connor turned the screen toward Dean. After an awkward pause, he asked hesitantly, “Can you see?” 

Conscious of the distance between them, Dean felt a little embarrassed for appearing rude. As he eyed the ashtray on Connor’s left side, resting on an upturned flowerpot, he made a silent calculation. He stood up and dragged his seat closer to Connor’s, while Connor moved the ashtray set-up to his right side, but not before taking in another pull and exhaling away from Dean. 

Connor unpaused the game for a second to show a little pixelated knight in a grey, somber world. “Just a platformer,” he said. 

“Oh, I don’t know anything about video games,” Dean replied, trying not to mind the smoke. “I have no idea what you said.” He laughed at himself, then added, “It looks fun though.” 

Dean watched him play for a few minutes, then as Connor paused to take another drag from his cigarette, Dean noticed the way the moonlight emphasized Connor’s gaunt appearance. To an outside observer, it would look as though a lonely ghost was keeping him company. 

“Want to try my smoothie?” Dean offered. 

He couldn’t help but grin at Connor’s wary look. Even the dim light couldn’t hide the lumps in his sour-brown smoothie. “No, it’s okay,” Conor replied.

“Try it,” Dean insisted. “It’s good for you.” 

Connor took a hesitant sip, pursed his lips at the taste, and coughed with his mouth closed. Dean chuckled at his reaction, which made Connor smile too. To Dean’s surprise and pleasure, he took another sip and coughed again as he handed it back to Dean. 

“Why is it spicy?” Connor asked, to which Dean laughed harder. He forgot about that and hadn’t intended to surprise Connor. 

With a dubious smile he repeated, “Um, it’s good for you?” He shrugged and added, “No, but seriously I put healthy stuff in there, like protein, fiber, vitamins.” 

As he drank after Connor, he could smell a lingering, smoky scent, but it was an unusually good pair with the spiciness. Either that or their bonding moment relaxed his mood. When he saw that Connor hadn’t yet unpaused his game, Dean sensed an opening and made a gentle gamble.

“So,” he began, trying to evoke an air of calm, “your friend, has he visited again?” 

Dean wasn’t sure if Connor heard his question since he didn’t see a reaction, but finally, he replied, “No.”

Connor’s usual melancholy was great for hiding any other emotion, but he didn’t seem annoyed that Dean had brought it up. “Well,” Dean said with strategic positivity, “next time he’s over, let me know. I’d love to meet officially when things are less awkward.”

Connor gave him a look that Dean would describe as thoughtful, but he couldn’t say what those thoughts were. His eyes slid down to Dean’s arms, covered with vibrant tattoos. Tonight Dean was wearing a thin, sleeveless hoodie, split at the sides to his waistline so there wasn’t much to the imagination. 

Because it was one of the few memories of Connor where he didn’t cower or stare into space, Dean remembered that he had taken interest in Dean’s tattoos when they first met. “What? My tattoos?” Dean said, raising them to give Connor a better look. “Do you think he’d hate them? He seems like the type who would...”

Connor furrowed his eyebrows at the tattoos, then met Dean’s gaze with an apologetic look, which Dean took to mean that yes, his friend would definitely hate them. “But I like them though,” Connor blurted. 

“Yeah?” Dean replied, beaming at his approval. “They were my first adult purchase, but it’s going to be a long time before I can get more.” 

As a teenager, he’d dreamed about getting them, a searing monument to his freedom as an adult, so it was worth the splurge. Starting from his left bicep was a tawny lion with a stoic expression, colorful flowers woven into its mane and cascading down his forearm. His right arm was three swords of varying lengths plunged into a crystallized human heart, which bled little shards of red down his forearm. 

“Do they mean anything?” Connor asked. 

Dean remembered the hours he poured into searching for designs and a reputable tattoo studio. He never put into words why he resonated with these designs though. “No,” he said. “I just wanted to look cool.” 

Maybe it was because of Dean’s boyish grin but Connor laughed. His cute reaction made Dean smile harder on instinct, but the slight burn in his cheeks surprised him. It had been a while since he’d smiled this much. 

He thought about offering to let him touch his tattoos when his phone pinged with notifications. Connor took the opportunity to take another pull while Dean quickly unlocked his phone. No new messages, but an email from the studio giving him next week’s shooting schedule. Relieved that he wasn’t going to film with Ray, out of habit he opened up one of his various social media apps.

Flipping through his timeline, he mindlessly liked the comments on his photos and reminded himself to update later. When he scrolled through a picture of himself, nearly naked in a risque pose, Dean remembered he was with his roommate. He closed the app and laid the phone in his lap before Connor could notice.

It was unlikely that Jamie told Connor that Dean was a porn actor, but he wondered what Connor thought he did. With a sideways look, Dean saw no reaction from him, so he assumed he hadn’t seen his phone. Maybe he was just imagining that Connor was a little pink in the cheeks, or his cigarette was a little shaky between his fingers.

It could very well be that Connor was always like that, but Dean veered the subject back to their mutual interest. Grasping for a question, he asked, “I’m just curious, but I didn’t leave a bad impression on your friend, did I? Did he say anything about me?”

Before meeting Connor’s friend, Dean couldn’t recall if anyone had looked at him with such disdain before. That small nudge of insecurity had made Dean want to know but was too embarrassed to ask. In fact, he regretted the question as soon as he asked it. 

Their eyes met again, but this time Connor studied him with more concentration and poise than Dean had thought he was capable of. The way he held his smoldering cigarette and regarded him impressed Dean, as it made him look mature without effort. When it seemed like he’d seen enough, Connor shook his head. “No,” he replied.

“I see,” Dean said, knowing that Connor was lying. He didn’t mind it though, since Connor meant to be gentle about it. “I don’t want to make it awkward for you, that’s all.” 

Dean downed the rest of his drink and stood up before he could embarrass himself further, before Connor could cobble together more white lies. ”So, what did you think of the smoothie?” Dean asked, changing the subject. “Clears the sinuses, right?” 

He liked the wince, then soft smile that Connor gave him, but he wished they could converse with a proper flow. It wasn’t because he didn’t know how to talk to a quiet person. Dean just wanted to know more about Connor. After he had heard the way Connor drunkenly begged his friend to stay, Dean saw in his roommate a kindred spirit. Maybe he could even help him through his unrequited feelings.

Dean opened the sliding glass door and stepped inside. “Next time,” he said, poking his head out and pointing purposefully at Connor, “I’ll make you a different smoothie. I swear I’ll find one you like.” 

Without waiting for an answer, Dean closed the door. Filled with renewed energy, he was ready to tackle this new project -- anything to take his mind off of himself. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA two chapters in one month is a big deal. See you in April!


End file.
